


homemaking

by khirimochi (NekoAisu)



Series: FFXIVWrite 2020 [18]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Headcanon, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Nesting, headcanons, heat and rut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26563378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoAisu/pseuds/khirimochi
Summary: “Looking to get your arse whooped?” Z’ahir asks, coughing lightly when the words crackle on their way out.“By you? Gladly.”He groans, flopping backward. “You’re such a sap.”“Only for you.”
Relationships: Au Ra Characters (Final Fantasy XIV)/Original Character(s), Au Ra Characters/Miqo'te Characters (Final Fantasy XIV), Miqo'te Characters (Final Fantasy XIV)/Original Character(s)
Series: FFXIVWrite 2020 [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906210
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	homemaking

**Author's Note:**

> FFXIVWrite 19: Home Is Where the Heart Is

“Ahir, what are you doing?”

He startles, tail shooting upward like a rocket, and whips around, rumpled sheets still clutched in his hands. “This isn’t—I’m not—you said you wouldn’t judge,” he says haltingly, looking at the spot next to Farai’s face rather than meeting his eyes. 

“Is it for your nest?”

He nods. 

“Is it alright if I help? I did not mean to disturb your preparations.”

“I don’t need—“ his mouth snaps shut and he growls, fur rising on end before settling “—help. I… would like it.” 

It seems to physically pain him to ask, jaw set so tense he could have been a miswired automaton. His tail lashes and the sheets in his hands are less so held and moreso  _ clutched.  _ He promised that he would ask, should he want assistance with something (even if he does not  _ need  _ it) but to ask for help when preparing his nest for rut is more than a bit much. 

He knows his cycle, knows that he’ll spend the greater majority of the day and early evening fighting to work out all of his anxious energy and artificial fury, and that the level of paranoia he feels at the thought of Farai stepping into his room is very much from imbalanced hormones and not his rational thoughts. 

“What can I do,” Farai asks, still standing at the door, “that will not disturb your work?”

He surveys what Z’ahir has set up so far. His bed, more a glorified collection of pillows and furs than a mattress, is covered in blankets and extra sheets (“to protect it from afterwards,” he had said when asked). The area around it holds pitchers and rations, the type that he can chew through and use as a substitute for dealing with the urge to bond someone. The floor is littered with more items and bedding, the theme of which is decidedly less than appropriate for younger company. 

There are more sex aids in Z’ahir’s room than personal effects. It fits the stereotypes he’d heard last he was at port—that Sun Seekers are insatiable, nearly feral, and that Tias without Nunhs to regulate them would be intolerable during their rut—but he knows well enough not to listen to those who gossip so loudly. Ruts don’t work like that (never have and never will). 

They have weathered them together multiple times, Z’ahir spending hours sparring with him before bathing and sleeping through the nighttime wave. He usually does not prepare like this and just designates Farai’s yurt as a good enough substitute for a “proper” nest. 

He usually doesn’t have masterfully carved phalluses and other questionable items strewn throughout his room.

Farai picks one up and examines it, humming while Z’ahir sputters and tells him to  _ put that down, damn you _ . “Is it worse, this time? I am not of your same race and I respect whatever needs you have, but I cannot help or avoid hurting you if you do not explain what you need.”

“It’s fine. The same as before. You just—you said you wanted to know what it was like normally,” he replies, ears tilting downward as he fluffs a pillow aggressively. “Take off your shoes and you can help with this. The left side is all wrong.”

(Farai would like it to be said, on record, that there was nothing wrong with the left wall and that Z’ahir admitted to bothering him about cushion placement solely for the benefits of being able to stare at his arse unimpeded.)

They work together to finish out the nest. He carries in some of the things from his home (a short jaunt by aetheryte away) and ends up nearly slam-dunking all six fulms of Suncat into the center of his own cushion kingdom when he tries to startle him with a surprise tackle. 

They tussle, hands and legs and teeth finding places to latch onto until Z’ahir manages to flip them over and pin his hands, his offerings laying forgotten on the floor.

“That’s three for me, four for you.”

“And how many ties?”

“Eight.”

He laughs, smiling up at him. “I hope to keep up with you properly, Sol,” he says. “Should we keep score for your rut as well?”

“Looking to get your arse whooped?” Z’ahir asks, coughing lightly when the words crackle on their way out. 

“By you? Gladly.”

He groans, flopping backward. “You’re such a  _ sap.” _

“Only for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I just want them to be soft and happy and mutually respectful of each other’s wants and needs
> 
> Twitter [@khirimochi](https://twitter.com/khirimochi) OR [@TheHolyBody (NSFW)](https://twitter.com/TheHolyBody)  
> Tunglr @[Main](https://kiriami.tumblr.com) OR @[FFXIV Imagines](https://ffxivimagines.tumblr.com)


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